[Saurreg]

Belegorn placed the feathery quill down and picked up the parchment. His grey eyes darted left to right swiftly as he proof-read what he had written. It wasn’t elegant prose for the writer was not a man of letters, but it contained the necessary information and instructions. Satisfied with his work, Belegorn held the parchment close to his face, blew gently to dry the ink, rolled it up and bonded it with a brown linen strip. He then turned towards the waiting messenger and handed the scroll over to the youngster with a stern instruction,

“This parchment contains the necessary information and instructions that the counselor Mitharan would need. In the absence of the captain and I, he would undoubting be in command of the column. Hand it over to him immediately and make sure that he reads and understands its contents.”

The youth nodded quickly and left the tent. Belegorn watched as the young man weaved and zigzagged before disappearing among the cluster of canvas tents. It would have been more appropriate if Hírvegil had approached Mitharan personally, but the commander was in no position to do so, not in his current state. He had appeared red-eyed with exhaustion before his deputy, lifelessly dote and speech slurred. More shocking than his tardy appearance and unbefitting bearing were his orders – absurd and totally incomprehensible.

Belegorn meant to protest immediately but Hírvegil left as sudden as he crashed, trashing about as he made his way hurriedly and clumsily towards his warm cot. For a moment Belegorn’s eyes widened and an unexplainable rage arose. His gloved hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his bejeweled sword and he felt an irresistible urge to pursue his outrageous commander and smite him with all his might and fury. But the terrible torrent subsided as soon as Hírvegil disappeared from view and Belegorn was left horrified by the dangerous hatred he felt. It took a while for Belegorn to regain his faculties. The time taken to draft the memorandum to Mitharan helped.

Belegorn adjusted his sword belt and affixed his dagger into its sheath on the left side of his body at the belt and retrieved his helmet and cloak from the wicker basket by his cot. He stepped out reluctantly out into the open and issued an order to a militia orderly to pack up his belongings. He had no idea how long he’ll be away and when the column would move again.

Tucking the wide rimmed helmet beneath his arm, Belegorn strode towards the marshalling ground where his charger and men awaited him.

**************

The grey winter sky offered no warmth and the sun was no where to be seen, being blotted out of the sky by dark clouds and fog. Just as well, for it mirrored the feelings of the first lieutenant and his rode across the assembled front of the riders and inspected each youthful face carefully. The mounted men stared on ahead passively like mannequins while the horses reared their great muscular necks in agitation. The aura and mood emitted by them were all too apparent to Belegorn; fear and insecurity were the orders of the day.

When the assembled riders were ready, Belegorn sent a messenger for Hírvegil. He looked towards the green pennon of the Rearguard in anticipation but the flag hung limply in its folds, inanimate on the pole. A forebode of the darkness to come.